


Time after Time

by lemonlovely



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, Derogatory Language, Eighties, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hawkins 84, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Homophobic Language, M/M, Smut, Snow, Winter, night of the snowball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonlovely/pseuds/lemonlovely
Summary: As Billy and Steve are waiting in the parking lot for their respective kids at the Hawkins Middle Snowball '84, Steve decides now is as good a time as any to ask Billy for the wallet he lost in the back of the Camaro - you know - /that/ night. But Billy's not giving it back without a fight.~“Really, Harrington. Stop avoiding the question. Tell me.” Those blue eyes flashed like an animal's in the dark depths of the Camaro. He repeated himself, enunciating like Steve was particularly slow. “Why. Would I have seen. Your wallet?”Steve glared down at Billy, feeling like they were caught in some kind of a staring contest that he hadn’t actually initiated, but also didn’t particularly want to lose either. Which seemed to happen a lot when he was around Billy – and that hadn’t been a lot for a few months. He’d been avoided like the plague, or maybe it was the other way around.Jesus Christ, apparently Billy was really gonna make him say it, as much as Steve didn't want to. He grit his teeth together.“Because.” Steve said. “I think I might have left it in…the backseat of your car. You know. That night. And I need it back.”





	Time after Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImNeitherNor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/gifts).



> Happy Harringrove Holiday Exchange! 
> 
> I've been freaking out over this for months! A gift for the wonderful, talented, fabulous and always amazing Nor, who I literally had to try every day not to TELL and it was really difficult but AH SURPRISE! IT WAS MEEEEEEE!
> 
> I seriously lucked out and got to write for one of my favorite people! I hope you like it bb<3
> 
> Thank you so so so much to @Celoica and @Gothyringwald for hosting this entire thing, you guys have been the real MVPs, you were so organized and thoughtful to arrange this. It must have been a lot to handle and I'm so thankful that you did. I've thoroughly really enjoyed the entire thing, from the excitement of writing for Nor, to seeing other people's excitement for their person, and also for what their own gift might be. I loved the outpouring of people writing and doing artwork as gifts, putting so much thought into it - I've never participated in an exchange like this before and it was seriously so much fun. I cannot thank you enough.

Steve sat in his car, engine idling, running the heater and wasting gas in the middle of December. The warm, dry air flooded the interior of the brick red Beamer, lit with nothing but the glow of dash lights. He had a cassette from The Smiths in the tape deck, playing _What Difference does it Make_ as Steve eyed Hawkins Middle through the windshield. 

He had a good view of the building hulking against the snow heavy, clouded over night sky. With the big ‘cubs’ paw print, bricks black against the silver of the sky, reflecting the Hawkins proper city light back – giving the clouds an unearthly glow. 

If Steve let his eyes drift out of focus, like he’d done a few moments ago, he’d determined he was seeing shit – like there was something in the air over the school. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he guessed – day dreaming, if that’s what you could call it. Something closer to nightmares, really, but in his waking moments. 

So he’d focused, tried to zone in on the school, so that he didn’t start seeing shit that wasn’t there again. From here, he could still hear the tinny echoes of Cyndi Lauper from the gym where the Snow Ball was going on. Watching the shimmer of cerulean and white show lights dancing against the gym windows, which were half cracked from wayward, determined baseballs. 

He turned off his radio, as _‘Time after Time'_ continued to drift from the gymnasium. 

He’d dropped Dustin off not so long ago, looking like a million bucks, and now he was just waiting for the dance to finish up. He’d almost, almost entertained the concept of sticking around closer to the gym – he’d seen Hopper and Ms. Byers bumming around on the other side of the doors, but when he’d caught a glimpse of Nance at the punch bowl, that’d pretty much decided that for him. 

So he’d pulled over into the half full, side parking lot. Close enough that Dustin would be able to see the BMW, far enough that Steve could feel removed (and so he wasn’t like, spying on Chief Hopper and Ms. Byers, even though he was like 98% sure they were over there smoking a joint.) 

Steve wasn’t trying to let his thoughts drift to Nance, which was part of why he'd turned off the cassette. Kind of wished he could skip over it on the mix tape he’d recorded a few weeks ago. Steve leaned his head back against the green leather headrest, sighing through his nose as his thoughts drifted.

It was almost Christmas – the Snow Ball officially kicked it off. Steve remembered his first Snow Ball in sixth grade – it was a huge cheese-fest, Mike was right about that. And it literally never changed – it was always the same, but maybe there was some kind of a comfort in that. The consistency of it, nacho cheese and all. 

Steve had danced with Nancy at that dance, way back when – when he’d been way too many long limbs and knees and he hadn’t grown into his head yet. Or his nose. He’d had the biggest crush on her since way back in fourth grade, and that dance had almost killed him with nerves.

He wondered how his whole Brat Pack was faring in there – if it had been as terrifying as it had been for Steve once upon a time? When Nancy Wheeler had asked him to dance. Steve smiled a bit at the memory, dark fan of lashes flickering as he thought of it. He’d never thought at the time he’d end up with her. And you know, he was just happy for the time he’d had, he supposed.

The Snow Ball and Christmas. They went hand in hand.

Steve didn’t know when he started hating Christmas. Apparently sometime in the last year. Really, maybe he’d never really loved it. Maybe it’d always felt more like he was _supposed_ to like it. But it was pretty difficult when your parents were taking off half of the year, with a lot of forgotten Christmases – always with a tree, full to bursting with presents underneath it, but never with what Steve actually wanted. Or at least, rarely.

And it wasn’t like they had a lot of close family. 

His parents usually showed up for New Years, though. They’d rarely miss that, because that was when they always had their big party for all of his friends business colleagues – with fancy parchment envelopes sent out with calligraphy ink, sealed with a navy blue wax stamp. 

Steve had always loved those stamps when he was a kid – there was something fascinating, something elegant, about the way the hot wax oozed onto the paper. Forming a lopsided circle, before his mother’s hand would rush in with the stamp to drive the metal into the liquid, holding it there for a second, a breath, until it cooled. It had been his job to add the postage stamps back then. 

But Christmas was another thing entirely. It was no high end, fancy party for his parents to feel obligated about. It was just _Steve_ at home.

Steve tilted his head as he caught a flash of headlights out of the corner of his eye – he realized it was familiar. A blue muscle car, black in the night – the Camaro. Steve bit his lip, the dull glow of the headlights brightening up the night beside him – a few spaces over. 

_If you're lost you can look and you will find me - Time after time - If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting - Time after time,_ Cyndi warbled. 

Sitting, dark and quiet – not idling to run the heat like Steve’s BMW. The only sign of life was in the headlights. Steve bit his lower lip, glancing back at the school. He hadn’t spoken to Billy Hargrove in nearly two months, now. Not since their fight, where Steve’d ended up knocked silly on the Byers’ living room floor. 

Hazy dark eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror, which he’d tilted down a while back to make sure his hair looked alright – observing, one more time, that the bruises were gone. His split lip had healed, his nose was straight again, and there were only hints of yellowing in all of the wrong places.

He licked at his lip as if he could still taste the blood there. But there was nothing. 

Steve had actually needed to talk to Billy for, well, a while. He drummed his fingers against the vinyl wheel as he considered his options. He’d asked Max about it once or twice, but she kept on blowing him off because she didn’t want to ask her brother, and, well, Steve totally understood that. He didn’t blame her, because he didn’t want to either. 

But he really…really needed his wallet. 

He’d considered just going to replace his drivers license, which apparently cost money – go figure – but most importantly, it also had a few of his dad’s credit cards in there for ‘emergency’ purposes, and he didn’t want to have to tell his dad he’d lost them. His dad would lose his shit, skin him alive.

He wasn’t entirely sure that Billy hadn’t found them and possibly blown up a huge bill on them, purely out of spite, because Steve had really, really been dragging his feet on trying to get the thing back. If that was the case, Steve really was good and fucked, so maybe he shouldn’t even try to get it back? 

Shyeah, that would be fine. He wasn’t a pussy or anything.

But school was at least out for winter break, with Christmas just around the corner, and he wouldn’t have to see Billy again after the encounter until after New Years. Plus, they were obviously both waiting out here. Counting minutes. Might as well have something to do. Right? 

Steve pulled his keys from the ignition, killing the engine, and got out of the Beamer. There was a sharp nip to the air, and Steve shivered as he remembered how fucking cold outside it was. He was only wearing his red Christmas sweater – a more low key, burgundy red jumper this year. 

Christmas was always presents under a tree he’d decorated alone, with what Steve always asked for every year, never a gift out of place – buying his love, he’d eventually figured out. Even if they weren’t there, the money was.

But y’know, every year there was one thing that he hadn’t written out on a haphazardly thought out list, and it was consistent – his mom always got him a Christmas sweater. And you know it was seriously, god awful. But it was like…like the one thing she always remembered, the one thing he didn’t actually ask for – the one thing she seemed to go out of her way to make sure he always got one every year. 

And every year, like clockwork, he wore it.

He’d wear it until the New Years party, when all of his parents closest friends and colleagues were gathered around in their modest little Hawkins home – a far cry from their apartment in New York, where they conducted most of their business when they weren’t in Hawkins. They liked to say it was ‘homier,’ better for a close gathering, but Steve didn’t know why the hell they didn’t just have it in New York. Why they always had to come back, and why he always had to get dressed up in a suit.

But they’d come back.  
When his mom wanted a breather, and his father finally had some down time, or when Steve fucked something up – like when they’d had to come back home after Barb’d gone missing. They just sort of…came and went. 

And y’know, Steve was used to it. It was just a normal part of life anymore. So yeah, yeah he’d never really gotten the point of Christmas. It was a big family holiday, all about spending it with family or whatever, so it hadn’t ever really clicked with him. When he was younger, it had seemed pretty cool to get everything he wanted – a new bike, a new basketball, a new pair of Nikes. 

Things had changed a little, he guessed, once he’d started dating Nancy. The Wheelers went all out for Christmas. Their tree wasn’t a fake one, it was a fresh evergreen, and it was decorated by more than one person – they made a huge event out of it, really, with the house smelling of fresh baked cinnamon sugar cookies, mingling with the scent of crushed pine, smoky with the Yule log in the grate of the fireplace. 

And Steve wore his Christmas sweater from his mom, and Nancy had fit so easily beneath his arms, tucked away on the couch as Mrs. Wheeler chased baby Holly trying to stop her from stealing ornaments off the tree, yelling at Ted to help as he snoozed in the Lay-Z-Boy. The tree, all lit up with bright, big, glass bulbs - yellow, red, blue, green. 

Maybe, that year, he’d almost understood, as Mike fucked around with the intricate, steel coated train set they’d won in a contest at Sears a few years back, and It’s a Wonderful Life played on the TV set in it’s black and white glory. 

Steve’d pressed his hand against his temple. Hadn’t looked much at the tree. The flash of the lights. He thought maybe Nancy hadn’t, either, but it was hard to tell. Ignored the headache he’d gotten if he’d looked at them too much, like a bad dream.

This Christmas, Steve had taken one look at the Christmas lights at his house – stuffed into one of the cardboard boxes he’d lugged up from downstairs, staring at the green coils of cords and empty, dark bulbs, filling the cardboard walls like a nest of creepers, before he promptly whipped the top back in place. It was funny how more than a year of nightmares could fuck with a guy. 

One thing he couldn’t quite understand was, how he’d been semi-alright last Christmas – which had been, what, barely more than a month after he’d spun that bat around in the Byers’ living room, hedging a monster forward into the hallway. Bright beneath the sparkle and cacophony of Christmas lights – lit up like Town Square in New York City. A hazy, reddish glow that haunted his dreams. 

But it was worse now. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t particularly explain it.

But he didn’t put up the fake, snow frosted tree – not this year. He’d kept the boxes downstairs. And he hadn’t thought of the four leaf clover fucker of a venus fly trap on steroids that had hovered above him, so much taller than him – and Steve was _tall_ , you know. That faceless thing towered over him. 

This was year was just…different. Last year he’d had Nance with him, and he’d been alright, and really he’d thought – if she could keep it together, if EVERYONE could keep it together, so could he. It should be easy. He wasn’t some pussy, wasn’t some wimp, he could handle it. 

And yet there he was. Boxing up the Christmas lights. 

He wasn’t like Joyce, and it had been a fight from what he’d heard just to get her to take them down…even when Will was home safe and sound. Like somehow something might happen, he might slip through her fingers again, and she might _need_ those lights. Steve didn’t want to look at them. 

He didn’t want to go to Nancy’s, like she’d invited him, with her and Jonathan attached at the hip. Taking up the same place on the couch Steve had sat with her last Christmas, imagining what his life would be like – like that – for years to come, every year. 

Steve didn’t even want to touch the finely wrapped presents that were shoved back beside the fireplace, besides the one he’d already opened – early – the one he was wearing. 

He was being a huge baby, he was pretty sure. Everybody else seemed fine. He should be too. 

But only a few months had passed, and he could still smell the tunnels when he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, and he could still see the flicker of pale pollen hovering just on his peripherals – could still _taste_ the spores on the air – but when he turned his head, there was nothing there. 

He was fuckin’ spooked. No. He was fine.

But he wasn’t putting up those lights. 

If they started to flicker, he knew what would happen, and he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. After November, everything just felt all too…close. It had brought everything back, all monster breath at the back of your neck, the threat of jagged teeth and the scent of rotting meat and…well, he’d had enough…well…whatever they were, attacks, whatever you wanted to call them – over the last year to last him a life time, thank you very much, and the last thing he needed to do was to pull some bullshit where he purposefully caused one by hanging up pretty lights. 

And his house didn’t smell like spiced cookies and woodsy smoke from the fireplace and sharp pine. It smelled his apparent new smoking regime in the living room (his mother would KILL him), whiskey from the empty bottle on the coffee table, and the laundry basket he’d left at the foot of the stairs, because he just needed to carry it downstairs to do the laundry but the big, hulking furnace kept making weird noises. The _furnace._

He felt like he was coming apart at the edges, unraveling as he drove Hawkins streets lit up with lines of cookie cutter Christmas lights that haunted him. He was just trying to keep it together, to hold _himself_ together and be fine. Like he wasn’t alone all the damn time, like he was _sleeping_ \- just had to keep the smile on his face.

And now, this year – this year, here he was, in his yearly Christmas jumper, alone in the parking lot of Hawkins Middle. Staring down the Camaro sitting perfectly in his line of sight. Steve grabbed his winter jacket out of the back of the Beamer to shrug into it before he slammed the door, burying his hands into the pockets of the puffy green and white stripe jacket that he sometimes wore when his parents took him skiing. 

_You said go slow - I fall behind - The second hand unwinds._ The music sounded otherworldly from here. Almost haunting.

Something ominous dogged Steve’s steps as he approached the Camaro, sitting silent and still in the lot – or no , not so silent. The windows were just rolled up. As Steve got farther from the gym, he could tell that the music was just muffled. Bad Boys Running Wild by the Scorpions vibrated the edges of the Camaro, and Steve could see the heady haze of cigarette smoke glossing over the air within. Steve bit his lip, slipping a hand out of one pocket to rap on the driver’s side window. 

Nothing happened for a minute. The music might have actually gotten louder. Then, after a few heartbeats, the window crank rolled down just a little – enough to let wisps of smoke trail out into the chilly air, which had only smelled like the promise of snow before. Now it smelled like Marlboros, whiskey, and leather seats. Steve could really do with a cigarette right about now. 

“The hell you want, Harrington.” A stiff, moody voice snapped. 

Steve scowled, shifting on his Nikes, and shoved his free hand through his hair, sweeping it back only for it to fall back perfectly into place. 

“Look, Hargrove, I – I have a question.” Steve sighed. Regretting his life.

He didn’t know if Hargrove would even hear him over the thump of the bass – hell, he’d barely been able to hear Billy’s voice. 

“Yeah, an’ what’s that?” 

The window cranked down a little more – just enough for Steve to actually get a glimpse of Billy as the smoke cleared and he didn’t have the awful glare off the glass. 

He looked bored. Glaring up at Steve with electric blue eyes, a smoke clamped between his lips. “I look like I’m feeling generous?”

“I don’t really care how you’re feeling, it’s just a simple yes or no question.” Steve already felt impatient, and they’d barely spoken to each other.

The Scorpions at his front were clashing with the the dying chords of Cyndi Lauper's _Time after Time_ at Steve’s back, sandwiching him in between the wildly different genres.

_Time after time - Time after time - Time after - Time -_

Billy blew a fresh cloud of smoke at him in reply. The Scorpions screamed at Steve.

“Have you seen my wallet?” Steve sighed at him. “That’s it, that’s all I need to know. See? Easy, yes or no.”

Billy laughed, a sharp, barbed thing that wasn’t the least bit humorous. “Oooh yeah. Easy, I can see that. And why, _praytell_ , would I have seen your wallet? Huh, pretty boy? An’ why the hell you look like you’re gonna go skiing?” 

Steve frowned, a pucker forming on his brow. “I get cold easily, so sue me.”

Which was saying something, considering Billy was sitting in an unheated car in barely nothing more than a flimsy leather jacket, and a pale blue button up that Steve had never seen him wearing before.

He had to be far colder than Steve, but you wouldn’t know it looking at him. 

“I mean you’re from California, aren’t you freezing?”

“I run hot.” Billy snapped. “Really, Harrington. Stop avoiding the question. Tell me.” Those blue eyes flashed like an animal's in the dark depths of the Camaro. He repeated himself, enunciating like Steve was particularly slow. “Why. Would I have seen. Your wallet?” 

Steve glared down at Billy, feeling like they were caught in some kind of a staring contest that he hadn’t actually initiated, but also didn’t particularly want to lose either. Which seemed to happen a lot when he was around Billy – and that hadn’t been a lot for a few months. He’d been avoided like the plague, or maybe it was the other way around. 

Jesus Christ, apparently Billy was really gonna make him say it, as much as Steve didn't want to. He grit his teeth together. 

“Because.” Steve said. “I think I might have left it in…the backseat of your car. You know. That night. And I need it back.” 

All Steve knew was that when he had finally woken up, and then after all of that fucking shit in those backwards tunnels, when he’d drug himself home and passed out into bed…when he’d woken up, all nightmares and totally NOT afraid, the wallet was gone. 

It had been in the back pocket of his jeans, and it was gone. And he needed it. His parents would be home for New Years. And he needed it by then.

There was the sigh of shifting leather, whether from the seats or from Billy’s jacket, Steve wasn’t sure – then the snap of a glove box, and the door of the Camaro was swinging open.

The radio was instantly cut off as the keys were disengaged. Billy pulled himself out of the car, boots first ass second. The soles of his boots grated into the asphalt as he drew himself up to his full height, dragging on his Marlboro with one hand, slamming the car door shut with the other.

And in that hand he held a familiar, Tuscan leather wallet. 

“Haven’t seen it, Harrington.” Billy flashed his canines around the cigarette. 

Steve stared at him, an ill-tempered fire building in his chest as Billy easily rested the wallet where he’d braced it against the Camaro. 

“You ah. You might have to refresh my memory. What night would this be?” He gestured vaguely with two fingers at his temple, eyes full of fire, a somewhat manic look growing there. 

“C’mon, Hargrove. You know which night.” 

“Well that’d be pretty fuckin’ funny, if you left it in _my_ car, Harrington. You sayin’ you’re the one that stole her that night? ‘cause I’ll tell you, I haven’t been able to get jackshit out of that little bitch about it. So yeah. Clarify for me. I’m real interested to know.” 

“No I didn’t steal it, you asshole. I was _unconscious_ , thanks to _someone._ ” 

“Not my fault you’re shit in a fight.”

Steve didn’t know that he exactly wanted to sell out Max, either, though, for essentially taking the car for a joy ride – a joy ride to save the world or whatever, but still. 

And if Billy didn’t know that now, he didn’t want to get Max any deeper into the shit with her stepbrother than he needed to. 

“I dunno man, okay?”

“Then I haven’t seen your _wallet._ ” Billy’s knuckles whitened over the perfect leather in his left hand – pewter ring glinting.

Steve rolled his eyes. “For christ’s sake, it’s right there, can you just give it back?” 

Billy’s face masked into a smooth, mean look as he slid the leather of the wallet beneath his nose, drawing it beneath his nostrils like one might smell a fine cigar, breathing in deep. 

“Mmh. Smells expensive.” He murmured, but before Steve could snatch for it, he’d tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans – how it fit, Steve had no idea. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, Richie Rich. Might wanna get your eyes checked.”

“Are you seriously going to be an _asshole_ about this?!” Why was he even surprised?

“You gonna keep _lying_ to me about this?” Billy snarled back.

“I’m not lying, I didn’t steal your stupid car, I just got dragged along and – I can’t even DRIVE stick.” 

“That’s pathetic, Harrington. Everyone should know how to drive stick. You want your wallet?” 

“Obviously, Jesus!” 

Billy eased away from the Camaro, drawing a long deep breath from the cigarette, mouthing over the filter as he sauntered away like he owned the whole entire goddamn world. 

“Then come fucking get it.” 

Steve didn’t miss the way those blue eyes flickered towards Hawkins Middle, where he knew – and where Billy must know – the Chief was. Holy shit, was this supposed to be round two? Was this where Billy finished the job? 

“Unless you’re _chicken?”_ That dancing tongue mocked him.

Steve pressed two fingertips to his temple, breathing in deep, trying to will himself to have patience. He wasn’t chicken. 

“Not fucking chicken…” He muttered, too low for Billy to hear.

Billy was melting into the trees at the lip of the parking lot, right where the treeline met the old cracked asphalt – and the sky had finally broken. There was a pale dusting of falling snow - snow that caught in Billy’s hair, frosting Steve’s eyelashes as he shivered – breath fogging in the air. 

After only a moment, he could only see the fiery glow of the cherry bobbing in the darkness at the trees, outside the range of the ring of light from the street lamps. 

“Don’t be a pussy, Harrington.” Billy called to him.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, once, to the aura of safety the very presence of the Chief exuded – as removed as he may be over by the school, where Steve knew he was waiting for Eleven to finish up at the dance. The way Steve should still be waiting for Dustin. Shit.

When he turned back to the trees, Billy was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey! Hargrove, wait – the forest here, it’s not…it’s not safe.” Steve called after him after a moment, trying not to sound like a huge fucking baby as he glanced up at the ominous line of sentry-like trees. They marched along the property, all bare, black, reaching skeleton branches and bones towards the sky – pale with December frost.

There was no response. No sound. 

“Hargrove?” Steve swallowed, and stumbled into the forest, Nikes dragging through rot and hubris dusted in snow like powdered sugar. Thinking that he should grab the bat from the trunk of his BMW – but he had no way of possibly explaining that away. 

He was pretty sure he was about to get his ass kicked. Again. And the bruising had just gone away, too. Mostly, anyway. 

\---------------- 

Steve’s Nikes crunched through the snow and leaf rot left over from fall, crunchy with silver frost - chocolate dark eyes flicking up to the black tree trunks that reached up towards the sky on either side. Branches of low-lying bushes tangled at his khakis as he huddled into his puff jacket, wondering how Billy could possibly stand the cold. 

Madonna’s _Holiday_ was drifting out almost eerily from the gym, even at this distance – a bright, chipper, jovial tune that meshed poorly with the close, pressed in feeling of the woods, the ominous lick of fear up the nape of Steve’s neck.

He had no fucking idea why he’d actually followed Billy Hargrove into the woods, unarmed, what the hell had he been thinking?

Steve jumped in fear, had to swallow a sound, some _kind_ of sound, he wasn’t sure what – as someone pushed him from behind. 

He stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he twisted around to face his attacker, eyes huge. 

But of course it was just Billy.

How he’d looped around to sneak up on Steve was beyond him – he hadn’t even heard him come up over the shuffle of Steve’s own footsteps. He couldn’t even see the glow of the parking lot from here – it was nothing but deep, dark, snarled woods, devouring the edge of school property as Steve fought to catch his breath. 

His heart thrumming in his throat like a panicked thing. 

“I told you to plant your fucking feet.”

“That same old song and dance? What the hell are you doing?” Steve snapped, sick with the sensation of shadows lurking just at the corner of his eye.

“Getting you away from your little pig buddy,” A sickly sweet smile twisted up the corner of Billy’s mouth. He wiggled the wallet in the air, gripping it between his forefinger and thumb at the corner. “Looks like it worked, huh?”

Steve’s fingers curled reflexively at his sides, twitching there as his gaze jerked between the wallet and Billy’s searing blue gaze, never leaving him. 

“What,” he asked breathlessly. “Didn’t get enough last time? Huh?"

Billy was suddenly in his face, pushing him again, against his shoulder – pushing him back, back, back, brows knit together like a thunderstorm as his tongue swiped out at the air like a viper’s – as if scenting at it for fear. 

“Bringing the King down a peg or two? Never.” Billy’s tongue slid over his lips. 

Steve was such an idiot to have followed him.

"The woods are dangerous, you asshole – it’s not safe - ”

“Yeah. ’cause the only thing to be afraid of in here is _me._ ”

Steve almost laughed in Billy’s face. He'd faced so much worse than _Billy._ “I’m not a–fucking–fraid of _you_ , Hargrove.” 

“Yeah? Well you should be. This is what you want, isn’t it Your Highness? Go on. Take it.” 

At first, Steve thought he was gonna hit him - braced for it, even. But instead, Billy brandished the polished leather wallet in the air between them, and Steve knew, he knew, but he still reached for it like a moron – right as Billy snatched it back just in time, cackling at his fun new game. 

Steve felt a furious flush crawl up from his chest, staining his cheeks maroon – but he was probably as washed out with snow-light as Billy, all pale blue skin, and lavender cheeks - hollowed out by the darkness. 

“Can you ever not be a dick for five seconds?” Steve’s breath misted between them.

The cigarette at Billy’s lips glowed like a crimson bullseye – almost burned down to the filter. 

“Nope.”

“Figures.” 

Billy just laughed at him, that angry, hard edge laugh that sounded like he had broken glass caught in his throat.

“Look. What do you want?” Steve sighed.

“I wanna see you beg for it. Go on. Beg for daddy’s credit cards, Harrington. C’mon. Say _pretty please._ ”

So he _had_ looked in there. 

Steve smiled prettily. Did that count? “Not a chance in hell.”

“You gonna tell me what the hell happened that night, Harrington? Or do I need to convince you, if last time didn’t do the trick?” 

The song had changed to _Rio_ by Duran Duran. Middle school dance music if Steve had ever heard it. The music was so low Steve might have almost missed it from this distance.

Billy spat the spent cigarette filter at their feet, where it fizzled in the snow, smoke rising from ash and ember as it went out.

Steve knew Billy was looking for a fight – he’d known it since the moment the window cracked open on the Camaro, spilling smoke and Scorpions. 

He could see it in the way he rolled his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the leather of Steve’s wallet, the way his eyes leaked blue electricity – electricity Steve could feel in the air, could taste on his tongue. Raising the baby hairs along the curve of his neck, and goosebumps on his arms – even beneath his winter jacket. 

Billy made the wallet dance tantalizingly in front of Steve again, eyes bright with some sick delight, grinning like a wolf as Steve snatched for it again. His nostrils flared as Billy snatched it away at the last second. 

“What are you, _five_?!”

Their breath fogged between their rigid bodies, mingling in the air - the tension tangible. Then all of the stress from the holidays - the empty house, the flash of the Christmas lights, the _nightmares_ , all of it, everything that had been dogging Steve's steps suddenly peaked. He was on top of Billy before he knew it, scrambling for the wallet as they both thudded to the ground. On top of the other boy, gripping at his jacket lapel with one hand, Steve tried for the wallet that Billy kept just out of range – delighted laughter, a mad cackle, in his ear. 

Billy’d gotten what he’d wanted. Rough and tumble on the ground, tussling in the snow.

“Just – give – it – to – me “ Steve grunted as they writhed on the forest floor.

Billy’s boots were kicking up snow and leaf matter as they twisted around, the blonde always keeping the wallet just out of reach. Laughing like a goddamn hyena. They wrestled in the frozen dirt, swapping places, until Steve finally had Billy under him again.

“ _WOOH!_ That's it, King Steve! Gotta work for it, Harrington!” Billy gasped at him, a lilt to his voice. Mockery on his tongue, mixing with his laughter. “I’ll give it to you good.” 

Give what? His fists?

As his blood got going, it heated Steve like a fire from within - a boiler in his belly. it burned away the chill.

He could also see a similar flush in Billy’s cheeks beneath him as Steve straddled him, squirming as he reached for the wallet. The fingers of Billy’s free hand curled into the collar of Steve’s jacket to help hold him at bay, the other arm extended to keep it out of his reach. Snow that drifted onto their heated skin melted instantly.

Steve twisted to get a better angle, arm extended , dirt in his hair, mud smudged on his cheek. He finally had the upper hand again – before he froze, eyes going huge as he stared down at Billy. Breathing hard.

Billy froze too, seeming to notice at the exact same moment. The fun at his little game abruptly drained from his face to be replaced with something closer to fury. The hand at Steve’s collar tightened as he shoved at Steve, as if to really push him away. Not playing anymore.

“Get the fuck off of me.” He snarled like a cornered animal. Red high on his cheeks.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath of the cold, frigid air. He was frozen above Billy, one hand still fisted into his lapel, breath billowing over the other boy as he stared at him wildly. His messed up hair flared out over his head like the crest of a startled cockatoo. 

Because he definitely had a cock pressed against his thigh. A hard one. 

Steve let out a confused sound, like air being let out of a balloon as Billy shoved him off - scooching back in the mud on the ass of his jeans. Breathing hard through his mouth, teeth flashing in the low light – his golden mane a snarled mess after they’d rolled around on the ground for a while. 

They both stared at each other for a second, for what felt like a thousand years. Billy’s jaw was slightly ajar like he was gonna say something - before he snapped it shut, jutting his chin out and glaring Steve down. 

“Wh- wha – ?“ Steve started like a question, his eyes dropping to the noticeable ridge against the crotch of Billy’s Levi’s. 

His brain was trying to supply an answer, and it kept coming up with reasonable facts, like that when guys exercised or worked out - physical activity in general, sometimes they could pop a boner from it, especially when you were wrestling around. It happened. It totally happened. Guy's had gotten stiffies for less, probably. And he was about to say that – maybe to take some of the heat off of the guy, give him a way out, mouth already opening to say it, when Billy suddenly hissed - 

“Well? Go on. _Say_ it.” 

Steve’s dark eyes, almost black in the night, flicked back up to Billy, muddled with confusion. 

“…say what?” 

“Faggot. Queer. Whatever blows your skirt up, Harrington. Just fucking try it. See what happens.” Then Billy was suddenly on his feet, looming over Steve, still sitting there on his ass. “I fucking swear, I _swear,_ you breathe a _word_ about this and I will fucking _end_ you. You’ll wish you’d never been _born_.”

Billy took a threatening step towards Steve, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that pale blue button up, the medal at his chest catching at the light. 

His face was blazing with something like fury, but there was a frightened glint in those blue eyes, and a tremble in his voice. His hands even shook a little at his sides, clenching and unclenching, like they were hungry to slam into something - probably Steve's _face_. But it was pretty hard to take him seriously, when he’s still sporting a raging hard on that’s pretty close to eye level with Steve. 

He chucked the wallet at Steve – it smacked wetly into Steve’s chest, tumbling down into his lap. But Steve just stared up at Billy, brunette locks standing on end – mouth hanging open like he’s forgotten how to close it. 

“I – I wasn’t gonna say - ” he started, but his mind was fumbling over itself, trying to work out what was happening. Trying to catch up. He’d totally been willing to brush it off as a sports, wrestling, physical exertion thing – was that, was that still what was happening? Steve didn't think so.

Steve scrambled to his feet to get them on a more even playing field. 

“No? Weren’t gonna say it? Then what were you gonna say, huh? Look.” He grit out. “It’s not what you think. Just – just take your fucking wallet, _your Majesty._ ” 

“I just. I didn’t know.” Steve said quietly. 

A lot of pieces were suddenly clicking into place in his mind, in rather rapid succession. A lot of answers to questions Steve didn’t even realize he’d been asking himself until now – like why Billy was always watching him in the showers, why he was always pushing him on the gym floor, go harder, go faster, why he always had this entirely bizarre way of giving advice that just made him sound like an asshole, where in any other situation Steve might think he was trying to be friends. 

“Yeah and you still dunno shit. It’s not – it’s not like that.” Billy’s eyes flickered away finally - uneasy – and he _never_ looked away from Steve. Never. He swiped his tongue over a canine, a nervous gesture. 

Steve blinked at him slowly, catching up.

“Jonathan…said that he thought it was like. Like you were…pulling pigtails. Like…on the playground.” Steve mumbled, mostly to himself. 

Jonathan had this bizarre read on people, that even Steve – who usually felt like he could read people pretty well, even if he couldn’t read letters so great – even Steve couldn’t quite understand. 

But it was like once he got people behind the lens of his camera, once he captured them in black and white on paper…he just had this really crazy insight into their souls or some shit. 

One night, when he’d been over at the Byers, for Thanksgiving actually – barely less than a month ago – Steve had been looking through some of his photos. And there had been a few long distance, clearly candid ones of Billy. 

Steve had given Jonathan this droll look like an _‘are you fucking kidding me?’_ kinda look, because really, hadn’t they gone over this before?

But he always had this creepy stash of pictures, and Steve had said, ‘See man this is why people don’t ever let it drop, ‘cause you keep doing it.’ 

And okay yeah, he’d heard Jonathan’s whole spiel about the ‘messages about what people weren’t saying’ and blah blah blah, but honestly, it was sorta like some freaky mind reading thing like Eleven or something. 

He just…could read people through his camera. It was totally crazy, man. 

But that’s what Jonathan had told him, with this far away, almost wistful look at his face as he observed the photos of Billy – spread out on the coffee table in the living room. While Steve stuffed his face with chips and salsa, watching the Thanksgiving football game on TV. 

Said that it seemed like the reason he never left Steve alone was that it was like he was a kid on the playground, pulling pigtails. That he _liked_ Steve. But Steve had laughed it off as a joke, even if he’d seemed serious – not kidding around. But now he wasn’t so sure. Either way, he'd made sure to tell Jonathan that if he'd thought _Steve_ had been bad about the photos thing, if Billy found out, he'd fuckin' KILL him.

Billy shoved him. Hard. Hard enough that Steve’s back smacked into a tree trunk, almost knocking the breath out of him, leaving him wincing and staring at Billy, who looked like a cat who’d stuck a fork in an electric socket. 

“That Byers freak has a big goddamn mouth, he don’t know what he’s talking about either, you hear me? Talking behind my back – he – “ But even Billy didn’t even seem to know what he was saying, a fine tremor running over his body that might have been from the cold. 

He slammed his fist in the trunk next to Steve’s head, making a cracking sound against the bark – the tree shivered and dumped a bunch of snow on them. 

Billy stiffened in shock. A laugh startled it’s way out of Steve.

“Woah hang on, chill, I’m not – it’s okay, if it’s that – “ Steve started.

“Don’t laugh, Harrington.” 

“I’m not laughing at you. Just the snow.” Steve smiled, even as his back smarted from being tossed against the tree.

He glanced down at where Billy was starting to soften in his blue jeans, now that they weren’t wrestling around - body to body.

“So, if I don’t know anything, you tell me – what does that mean?” He raised his eyes back up to Billy’s, keeping his lashes low. Voice low. 

“It doesn’t mean _anything._ ” Billy’s face had stilled into a blank mask now, as still as a frozen lake, snow clumping up on his shoulders as he hunched them around his ears. Defensive.

The tips of their noses had gone red with cold. Edging closer together.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t…hate you.” It sounded like it cost Billy to drag that out.

“Does that mean you like me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” That wasn't a _no_.

“You beat the shit out of me.”

Billy sneered at that, leaning even closer towards Steve – where his back was pressed up against bark. Trying to drive a point home, maybe.

“You need to learn to fight. The right way.”

“What? You mean fight dirty?” Steve’s eyebrows lifted, eyes dropping down to Billy’s mouth of their own accord. Wasn’t sure what was suddenly happening

“That’s the only way to fight.” 

“You smashed a plate over my head.”

“Yeah. And I won. It wasn’t personal. You just – nobody te – “

“Nobody tells you what to do. Yeah I got the memo.” 

“ _Look_ , you’re making this into a – a way bigger deal than it needs to be, and – “

Billy gripped at Steve’s collar again, like he was going to shove him harder against the tree , but he was close enough now that Steve could feel the condensation of his breath over his lips – heat against the nip in the air. 

“You’re saying it’s not a _big_ deal?” Steve murmured. 

“Well – I ain’t saying it’s _small_ \- “ Billy caught himself. 

He was half leaned towards Steve, clearly thinking – his body half bent over as if he were one of these tall, proud trees, giving way to a stiff breeze. 

And Billy _leaned_ like it was a question. 

Steve couldn’t have said, later, what possessed him. He might have said it was all of those times from before. Before he’d gotten half concussed.

Well…maybe a little bit after that, too. (Even if he wouldn’t admit it. )

When Billy hadn’t been the only one looking in the mist of the showers. He might have said it was the way Steve had caught those small, half glances he’d caught from Billy sometimes in the halls – when he hadn’t known Steve was looking. And the warmth that had blossomed in his chest in response. It was in the way, sometimes, as they ran along the court, the rubber basketball dribbled from fingertips, with a surge of exhilaration – Steve had been having _fun_ as Billy chased after him.  
It was in Billy’s oddly expressed, yet obvious acknowledgement of Steve being upset over Nancy – offering stilted advice, that he covered up at the last minute with a snide comment. Plenty of fish in the sea. And at the time, Steve had maybe thought – Billy meant _him_. 

Steve hated Billy. But mostly, he hated the way he _didn’t_ hate Billy.

Steve closed the gap. Sealing up the space between them without a thought, still catching his breath after their impromptu wrestling match. Wallet forgotten on the ground at his feet. 

Steve pressed his lips carefully against Billy’s, an answer to that unasked question. But it was also a question in and of itself.

Those perfect pink cupid’s bow lips (which Steve hadn’t been able to help but notice in the past) were dry with the cold, and for a moment, their mouths simply touched. Unmoving, absorbing the warmth of skin to skin contact, before Steve pulled away. His thick lashes tipped up as he studied Billy, trying to steady his breathing and gauge the other boy’s reaction. He wasn’t sure if he’d read this right. 

But Billy was staring at him in unabashed shock, those blue eyes leaping with that blue electricity that Steve had never been able to name before. Never been able to put his finger on. Now he could. 

Steve’s lips parted, as if to ask something – to break up the stifling silence – when Billy caught them once more, silencing him. This time, Billy’s mouth parted against his, easy at first, testing the waters – allowing Steve to open his own, breath mingling. He swiped his tongue out, sliding it along Billy’s lower lip – curling his hands up into the buttery leather of Billy’s flimsy leather jacket lapels. That thing weighed nothing.

“Christ, aren’t you cold?” Steve laughed lightly into his mouth, their teeth clicking. 

“You gonna warm me up, pretty boy?” 

“Yeah.” Steve hummed.

Then the shorter of the two was surging forward, pressing Steve up flat against the pine, sticky with sap, mouth fitting more securely over Steve’s. Their tongues pressed together, Steve’s eagerly exploring new territory while his brain short-circuited – left far behind in the chain of events. 

Exploring Billy’s soft pallet, the shape of his tongue, the line of his pearly whites. 

This kiss was new. This kiss was different.

This kiss was a strong jaw working against his own, the slide of rough stubble, and an ice cold nose bumping another cold nose. It was the heavy tang of whiskey and the tar of Marlboros on Billy’s tongue – a _strong_ tongue, just like all of Billy’s other muscles – not soft or compliant like a girls. Fighting for dominance just like the guy himself did. 

Steve had always wondered how talented that overactive tongue was, and he wasn’t disappointed.

Steve was instantly breathless with that kiss as they both shuddered for air through their noses. Billy’s hands were sliding into Steve’s winter jacket, running frozen fingertips first along Steve’s burgundy Christmas sweater. Then, they dipped beneath the hem of it, icy against the curve of Steve’s lower back. Steve jumped, hissing at the shock. 

Billy laughed at him – probably the easiest, lightest sound Steve had ever heard leave Billy Hargrove’s mouth. Then their lips were mashing together as one again. The kiss was fast, it was hungry, and quickly building to something like desperation. Steve hadn’t kissed anyone like this – certainly not in the past couple months. Maybe never. Definitely never. 

And it wasn’t just kissing – he hadn’t really had much company with anyone besides his own hand, and that could really only get you so far. He was practically getting blue balls. That was totally a real thing.

Now, that same hand dropped to press against the bulge in Billy’s jeans, right at the crotch – at the bite of a copper zipper. A rumble started in the back of Billy’s throat as his hips jerked at the contact, as if hungry for more as Steve leaned farther back, running his fingers along denim.

Billy immediately pressed forward as Steve slotted his hip to replace the presence of his hand. He had…no idea what the hell he was doing, if he was being entirely honest. He was fucking winging it. But his body seemed to know what to do, at least to a minimal extent, and his first instinct was to press his thigh against the hard ridge of Billy’s dick. 

Billy rutted against him, with Steve working his hip forward – driving it against the heat, almost shocked that he was just as hard as Billy. And the pressure, the friction he found there against a sharp hipbone felt fucking _amazing._

Their panted breaths hissed out of their noses, passed the gaps of parted lips in gusts of steam. Billy’s broad hands slid up and down Steve’s back as their hips moved together, rocking in unison. Gripping at his shoulder blades. A sharp pleasure was twining up the base of Steve’s spine, like creeper vines around the vertebrae - delirious with the contact, the pressure, the movement. Rutting against Billy like he was thirteen again. With Billy pressing right back against him – real urgent. And Steve glowed with the mirrored neediness – that they _both_ wanted this, needed this, so badly. 

He twisted Billy around, almost _too_ easily- he’d perhaps expected more of a fight, but he didn’t get one. Swapping places, until he had Billy up against the tree next to them, an ash. Billy grunted at the rough movement, shoving Steve’s puff coat off with a sigh of fabric. Giving him better access to touch Steve everywhere, fingers wandering, gripping at the red cashmere of his jumper – making Steve shiver, even as they shared body heat. 

Steve’s mouth dropped, pressing to the corner of Billy’s mouth, running along the angle of his jaw. Grazing stubble like sandpaper. Billy’s breath was broken and ragged in his ear as Steve went lower – mouthing against the tender skin of his throat, tasting at the raging pulse there. Smiling into his kisses as he went. 

“Harr – Harrington.” Billy gasped, swiping his tongue at the shell of Steve’s ear. Nipping at it to call him back. 

Steve went eagerly, hungry for the heat of Billy’s mouth as they warmed each other in the dark December night – the distant tunes from the Snow Ball all muted and muddled around them. 

Billy was fumbling at Steve’s belt blindly, but with something like practice – and he undid it with ease. Dragging the button open and pulling the fly down before he was pushing Steve back up against yet another tree with a _‘whump!’_. His hand slipped into the confines of the khaki, but Steve gave a badly muffled yelp, jerking away on instinct. 

“Your fingers are f-fucking freezing,” Steve gasped.

“Yeah, shit, sorry – fuck it’s cold as balls out here – “ Billy laughed, breathless. 

He seemed to search for an option, then apparently came up with a better idea. He dropped to his denim clad knees before Steve, making him jump a bit on his toes, bark biting into his back through the cashmere of his sweater. Jacket abandoned on the ground. 

“Wh – whut-re you doing – “ 

Steve stared, his fingers fumbling at Billy’s shoulders in confusion as Billy tried his best to draw Steve out of his jeans and briefs while simultaneously touching him as little as possible, and so he wouldn’t catch on his zipper. 

Steve’s eyes went huge, round as coins as he stared down in shock – Nancy had never actually given him head before, even if other girls had, but he was just left sputtering for a second before Billy actually got his mouth on him.

And that wasn’t the cold, which had honestly been making him shrink. In fact, Billy’s mouth enveloped him in heat, warming him back up to considerable size. He pulled that velvet, talented tongue along the sensitive skin, successfully elongating him with warmth and spit - mumbling ‘ _and I thought you were big before, shit.’_

As Billy swallowed Steve down as far as he could without relaxing his throat, Steve’s head knocked back against the tree, making another fine dusting of snow tumble over them. His sneakers slid in the slick dirt – back arching as Billy hollowed his cheeks and positively _sucked_ in earnest. 

One hand reached up to brace against the bark, elbow crooked, fingers sticking at sap, scrabbling at the bark. His eyes snapped closed with the movement, a strangled moan startling its way out of him. His other hand found its way to Billy’s hair instead – a tangled, golden mess from rolling around on the ground only a short time ago. 

“Oh… _oh._ ” Steve said, a revelation – because that strong jaw certainly didn’t only make _kissing_ different than kissing a girl. He was only vaguely aware of his nonsensical babbling. “Oh shit, shit – shit, Billy. Muh, that’s…oh…” 

Billy was gripping him at the hips, almost hard enough to leave fingerprint shaped bruises. Trying to keep Steve from bucking too hard against him, completely out of his waking control. His ass wasn’t even up against the tree anymore, as his front went searching for more of that burning, wet heat, and the pressure of Billy’s tongue. 

When he glanced down at Billy from beneath his lashes, finally convincing his eyes to open, his breath caught in his throat. Those sharp blue eyes were locked on him, throat relaxing as Billy swallowed his entire length before he drew back slow, tongue swiping over the head of Steve’s cock. Making him moan, loud, and spooking an annoyed owl out of a tree. 

Steve’s hips stuttered forward as he whimpered in pleasure, at the sensation and the _view_. He only vaguely realized that Billy was dropping one hand from where it pressed against his thigh – giving Steve more reign as Billy palmed at himself through his jeans. His knees sliding on brown pine needles and snow as he worked himself through heavy denim. 

Billy had snowflakes in those insanely long, dark eyelashes, sparking with tears at the corners. Watching Steve like a hawk, mouth wrapped around his length. The view was amazing, and Steve knew in that instant he wasn’t gonna make it for long. It was almost embarrassing how fast he was gonna come. But it had _been_ a while, okay? 

The slow building pressure in Steve’s gut was suddenly too much, too much, and with a sharp sigh his toes were curling in his Cortez Nikes. He tried to pull back from Billy – he’d given him no warning – but the hand that still controlled Steve’s hip kept him steady as Billy swallowed him down. 

Steve’s eyes fluttered closed as his head rocked back against wood, shoulders shuddering there as delight and electricity zinged all over his skin. It was a mind numbing orgasm. Lighting up his fucking _bones_. Breathless, broken, mindless sounds tumbling from his lips, Billy’s name mixed in with half hearted curses and glowing praise. Over the heartbeat thundering in his own ears, he thought he could hear Billy moan – but really he could _feel_ it in the vibrations of his throat around Steve's length. The sensation of it made Steve gasp. 

As the golden light that had blinded his mind’s eye began to fade, Steve slumped back against the tree trunk from where he’d arched, practically up on his toes – so weak in the knees he realized Billy had been supporting him one handed so he didn’t simply fall. 

He wasn’t thinking about Christmas. Wasn’t thinking about monsters. Wasn’t thinking about his big, empty house awaiting him that night. Didn’t spare a thought for any of it. Billy Hargrove filled up each nook and cranny of his mind. His bones had turned to jelly, hardly able to stay standing. 

Billy wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, standing, as Steve tucked himself away from the bite of the cold air, redoing his zipper, button, and belt with a click. 

Billy’s chest rose and fell quick, a small, dark spot widening at the front of his jeans. He stood there almost awkwardly, watching Steve with a pensive expression, as if he wasn’t sure Steve was going to shoo him away now that Billy was done sucking him off. To pretend it didn’t happen. Not sure to stay or go – of what would come next. He was tense again, watching Steve with shifting blue eyes that Steve had to read to understand what he was thinking. Probably the most open and vulnerable Steve had seen them – not shrouded or veiled like normal. 

Steve smiled, a small, reassuring thing - shivering a little now that he seemed to notice the cold again. Before, the heat of his arousal and the pounding of the blood in his veins had blocked it all out. He noticed even Billy was shivering a little, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Because of course Billy Hargrove’s teeth didn’t _chatter_. He _ran hot._

Steve reached out with long, elegant fingers to tug at the front of his half-unbuttoned baby blue shirt, pulling Billy closer. Smiling at him. Bumping their pink noses together, close enough to graze eyelashes in a butterfly kiss. 

“Thought I told you _not_ to cream your pants.” He swallowed a laugh, gazing at Billy as if with an inside joke. Which, now, it kind of was. Like they’re friends. 

Something seemed to instantly ease within Billy, loosening his shoulders – like he’d been holding his breath, and could finally let it out. 

He stepped into Steve, black boots shuffling in the pine needles and old crumpled leaves as he tilted his head, an uneasy smile faltering over his mouth. Like this was unexplored territory. Lining their bodies up more perfectly. 

“Yeah, don’t be too proud of yourself, you didn’t do nothin.’” Billy’s tongue wet his lips, eyes brightening a bit. 

“I would’ve, but you beat me to it.” Steve’s throat worked as he swallowed another laugh, crinkles forming around the edges of his eyes. Riding his post orgasm high. Watching Billy watch him. 

“..would you’ve?” Billy shifted on his boots. 

Steve bumped their noses together again. “Well yeah.” 

Steve bent over to grab his jacket off of the ground, still feeling blissed out as fuck, weak kneed as a baby fawn. 

“Ha, get it? You _beat_ me to it.” 

“Oh Jesus.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face, smothering a grin. 

He extended the jacket to Billy, eyebrows lifting in an offering, and at his totally great joke – but Billy gave him a look that said ‘ _there is no way in hell, Harrington._ ’ 

Or maybe it was a _‘you’re ridiculous but I’m amused by you’_ look. Steve found that he was suddenly discovering all sorts of new things by the second about Billy Hargrove, like how that smile could really look. And how it might look for them to be friends – or…possibly more, after what just happened. Hopefully more. 

“Hey, I’m funny, okay? And besides…there’s always later. Right?” Steve asked as he shrugged into his jacket. 

There was a breath of anxiety at the back of his neck if Billy said _‘like hell this is happening again,’_ or something like that. Billy didn’t respond for a second. 

Steve rambled when he was nervous. Gestured with his hands. 

“I mean it, it’s pretty cold you know, and you don’t even have a real jacket and - you know, if we stay a lot longer, you might get sick. Even if you ‘run hot’ or whatever. And…and besides…I could run the heater in my car. Maybe…maybe we could wait for the kids to get out of the Snow Ball – like – like, together. So that’s what I mean, there’s always…later…” 

Billy blinked at Steve once, twice, before the softest smile he’d ever seen tugged at the corner of his mouth. Tugging on Steve’s heartstrings. 

The Cali boy grabbed Steve’s wallet off the ground, dusting snow and shit off of it, and leaned in to tuck it into the back pocket of Steve’s khaki’s. Angling his chin to stare Steve in the eyes, before he wrapped himself around him in this easy half hug. Warm breath tickled at his ear when BIlly spoke, effectively cutting off Steve's rambling. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, soft as silk. Calming Steve's heart. “There’s always more time. ” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, you awesome people you, @Pan-Shego and @Wordsarebe-utiful for helping me beta read, and @Ceruleanheart for helping me sort through a muddled beginning. ILU guys


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